Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  The pages fell flat with a sudden puff of black smoke. As Alodar fanned the haze aside, he saw that the parchment contained not writings on magic but blankness from top to bottom. He quickly cut to another page and the opening was accompanied by the same explosion and absence of content. He spent the next hour trying to part the leaves in various ways, slowly, from the top, with eyes closed, behind his back, but always with the same result. When he was done the book was empty, ready and fresh for the first word to be written in it.

  Alodar tossed the useless volume aside in disgust and began to climb slowly back up the cliffside. “Safeguarded still,” he muttered. “I have yet to find the way.”

  “This way, Alodar,” Hypeton called as he wove his way through the clutter of low benches and tables in the dark and musty room. Alodar followed, barely able to keep sight of the swirling brown of the robe in front as he avoided the outstretched arms and legs in his way.

  He saw their target at last, a small round table in the far corner, already occupied by two figures huddled over the light of a single feeble candle.

  “Ah, my night vision deceives me not,” Hypeton said with satisfaction as he sat down. “The best bench in the house, I wager.”

  Alodar sat down in the one spot remaining and squinted into the gloom at the two others, white-robed but hooded as he.

  “But we are much too formal,” Hypeton continued, throwing back his cowl and reaching up to do the same to the figure at his left. The hood fell in a cascade of golden curls shining brightly in the light of the candle. “And yes, I was right, it is you, Cynthia, and your companion must be Camphonel, is it not?”

  “Enough of your light manner, Hypeton,” the bare headed girl responded in a throaty voice. “It is barely tolerable back at the Guild. I care not to have it pursue me when we take leave to visit the village.”

  “Ah, Cynthia, as gruff as always,” Hypeton said. “How is it that your heart does not mirror the perfection of your skin? It would be most wondrous if it were so.”

  “Which new one do you bring with you tonight, Hypeton?” Cynthia asked, ignoring the question. “Did the last one finally tire of the same parade of taverns and houses, week after week?”

  “I am Alodar, the neophyte,” Alodar said. “Are you also of the Cycloid Guild?”

  “Indeed I am,” Cynthia answered. “Perhaps you have already seen me in the course of your sojourn there.”

  Alodar squinted at the face across the table with eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. The chin was square with a harsh line that contrasted sharply with the softness of the cascading curls. The nose and lips were a trifle too large for the thin, oblong face but the eyes were alive, returning with confidence Alodar’s measured look. Men who did not know her would judge her plain, he thought, but those who did would feel a strong allure. Recognition sprang to him as he traced down the outline of her figure now hidden by the robe.

  “Indeed, the ritual of the ring,” Cynthia said simply. “But I see that the folds of your cloak hide something interesting as well. Here, let me see your hands.”

  She extended her arms across the table and Alodar placed his hands in hers.

  “Your hands are scarred,” she said. “What manner of labor do you perform for the Guild?”

  “The same as always given to the newest of the neophytes,” Alodar answered. “The marks are there because I have practiced at arms.”

  “Not only practiced, I see,” Cynthia said, running her hands along Alodar’s forearm, fingertips gently rippling over the token from some of Cedric’s instruction. She looked deeply into Alodar’s eyes.

  “You must tell me sometime of the adventures that gave you these,” she said. “A tale of arms would be a most welcome change from those of magic, which is our steady diet.”

  Alodar opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, enjoying the pleasure of her contact. He tried to picture Vendora and compare her beauty, but the image was faded as if seen through the magician’s curtain. He struggled to remember her as she looked in the dungeon of Iron Fist when they first met or later in the keep just as the walls finally fell. The queen was a stunning beauty, but how exactly her face was different from Cynthia’s he could not tell. He sighed at the blankness and almost instinctively began to withdraw his arm.

  Cynthia turned her hand over and playfully stroked the back against his. To his surprise, he felt a small nodule of hardness in the middle of the smooth skin.

  “It appears the work of the initiate is also not only of the mind,” he said.

  “That is the mark of all who advance beyond the level of the neophyte,” Cynthia replied. “When they stoked the branding iron with the small disk into the furnace on the day of my initiation ritual, I fainted dead away. When I awoke, my hand was bandaged and I was cloaked in the robe of white, free to roam the hall of the initiates. Several weeks later, only the little circle of scar tissue remained.”

  “And what true significance does it have?” Alodar asked.

  “Who can tell?” Cynthia said. “So much of the initiation ritual is merely tradition from years gone by. I have no call to be reminded of it in my instruction since.”

  Before the conversation could continue, the murmuring of the crowd began to rise in anticipation and Alodar turned to view the small stage at the other end of the room. The curtain behind parted and a minstrel walked forward. He strummed a chord on his strings and waited for silence before beginning.

  “The lava ran hot, fierce and glowing.

  The fumes alone scurried the lesser men back,

  But to the queen he had pledged the gems

  So into the tunnels stomped mighty Rendrac.

  “Knee deep in liquid fire he struggled

  To the very heart of the smoking mountain;

  In a sparkling pool of rich treasure

  He stuffed his pack from the cascading fountain.”

  Alodar blinked in amazement as the ballad droned on. It was all there in traditional saga form. The brave hero setting out alone against overwhelming odds. By his mighty prowess he secured a treasure for his queen but, alas, perished in the deed. A hundred years from now more verses and embellishments would be added so that the true event could not be fathomed by the wisest from the telling.

  The crowd showed its approval at the conclusion and then buzzed with the gossip the ballad had evoked.

  “They say that his mentor truly reaps the benefits of his great labor.” Camphonel spoke for the first time. “He rode into Ambrosia in magnificent style, tossing small gems like pebbles into the crowd. To the queen he presented a necklace of huge stones, with an emerald nearly fist size for the pendant. Vendora postponed her betrothal to some other outland lordling, and now Basil is in her company everywhere. But she craftily does not choose him over the other. Instead, she delights in their daily struggle for her favor.”

  Not one suitor but two! Alodar looked down at his brown robe and sighed softly. He shook his head and focused his attention on the conversation still bouncing around him.

  “A lack of definition on the politics to the north!” Hypeton swore. “Their ways degenerate further with each passing year. Thanks be to the permutations that keep the Guild out of such pettiness.”

  “Your ear is as sensitive as your tongue, Hypeton,” Cynthia said. “The Guild deals with struggles of power as much as any principality. Why the entire esplanade is talking of nothing else. The next council meeting is an extraordinary one called by Lectonil. It will be the real test between his faction and that of Beliac.”

  “And how do you see the outcome?” Alodar asked.

  “The talk is mainly fueled by rumor, with no substance one way or the other,” Cynthia replied, “but I think that Beliac feels the pressure of time to be against his ideas. He seeks to get votes by other means than those of cold logic. Else why would he beseech me to show certain favors to one of the less committed masters? Why, I wager that if a means of persuasion were presented to him, he might even traffic a neophyte.”
>
  “Of course,” Alodar said. He quickly slid from the bench and headed through the night back to the tower of the neophytes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Unfettered Dragon

  ALODAR pushed aside the twig and peered out at the acolyte standing at rigid attention in the hot sun. He reached down to the small wax figure at his side and deftly drew the lips apart in a ghoulish grin. Duncan’s features responded in kind, although his cheeks trembled from the strain of trying to break the grip which held him.

  Alodar looked down the path and saw Beliac’s slow approach to the library’s entrance, his chin deep on his chest and every step reluctant.

  As the magician passed, Alodar removed the cork from the flask and grimaced at the foul odor which arose from it. With a sweeping motion, he tipped his head back and downed its contents, feeling a raw, rasping sting all the way down to his stomach. His throat would be monstrously sore for a week afterwards, he knew, but Saxton’s craft was never particularly concerned about the aftereffects of its potent brews.

  Beliac drew abreast of the immobile acolyte and Alodar pursed his lips to speak.

  “Good riddance, pompous windbag,” Duncan seemed to say. “I hope they see fit to take back the robe of black as well as denounce your ideas.” The voice was high and sluggish, Alodar thought, but no one would doubt that Duncan had spoken. The elixir of ventriloquism worked well indeed.

  Beliac stopped his pacing and looked up in disbelief. “Well move along,” Alodar projected. “You may as well get it over with.”

  “See here, acolyte,” Beliac replied. “The affairs of the chamber are no concern of yours, in spite of what you have surmised from our previous converse. And mark you well, regardless of what happens there, I will emerge with the unbroken circle on my robe still, more than a match for any acolyte in the Guild, no matter how lofty an opinion he holds of himself. None of your station dare address me thus.”

  “And in truth you are correct, O sage,” Alodar said in his own voice as he stepped from his hiding place and out onto the walkway. “By a combination of the arts of thaumaturgy and alchemy, I made appear what was not so. Acolyte Duncan, of course, never of his own free will would make such statements.”

  “Then it is you, neophyte, who will feel the wrath of my punishment when I have time to deal with the matter,” Beliac snapped in reply. “What is your name and station within the Guild?”

  “My demonstration was for a most pointed purpose,” Alodar persisted. “I believe that you have a need for the control of another’s voice and posture within the very next hour. That I can offer to you.”

  Beliac’s eyes brightened with comprehension. “Ah, what you say is true, most clever lad. Quickly now, inform me of the ritual by which this is done and I will reward you in due proportion.”

  “As I have said,” Alodar replied. “It is not of magic, but the other arts. I must be present to perform, else it cannot become so.”

  “A neophyte in the apex. Unthinkable!” Beliac growled. “Give me the ritual or face my wrath on the spot.”

  “My presence or nothing,” Alodar said coldly looking into the angered eyes of the magician. “Decide now or let the opportunity slip from your grasp.”

  Beliac was silent for a long moment and then flung his arm in hasty beckoning. “Very well, come along. We will deal with your lack of respect later.”

  Alodar returned quickly to the bush, ran his fingers over the waxen eyes and laid the doll out on the ground. He bounded back beside Beliac, not even bothering to check Duncan’s apparently slumbering form nearby.

  Beliac extended the ring on his left hand and aligned its intricate design of miniature planes and cubes into a mating indentation in the slab in front of them. A moment passed with Beliac’s hand rigidly extended forward, but there was no motion in the slab.

  “Oh by the postulates, calm yourself man,” Beliac muttered to himself. “It will not do for one of Lectonil’s lackeys to see me so agitated that I cannot work the outer door.” He took a deep breath and then another and pressed his ring more firmly into the slot. The rock parted at a line that Alodar had not detected, and they stepped into a small alcove.

  “Here, since you are uninitiated, you must wear a talisman to calm the watcher.” Beliac shoved his ring into another slot to his left. A small drawer extended from the wall and Beliac withdrew an ornate chain of gold braid and placed it about Alodar’s neck. He then used the ring a third time to part the door at the rear of the alcove, and they entered the library proper.

  Alodar’s eyes darted greedily about as they passed down the center aisle towards a stairwell in the very center of the large square. Unlike the subdivision into many small rooming cubicles of the hall of the initiates, no intervening construction blocked his view.

  The entire floor was covered with neat rows of desks and study benches, most occupied by figures robed in white and gray. From all four of the gently sloping walls, shelf after shelf of books, scrolls, and manuscripts cantilevered out into the study area. Alodar gazed up the spiral of the stairs to where they finally disappeared in a small ceiling area crowded by the four wall planes that converged to it. At regular distances along the flight upwards, catwalks radiated outwards from the wall and ran unsupported from below to join the spiral. At each level a second walkway circumscribed the interior and gave access to still more shelves of magical knowledge.

  Alodar smiled with satisfaction. This was where he must search for an explanation of the power of the spheres.

  They reached the stairwell, Beliac pressed his hand to the base of the banister, and they began to climb. Alodar’s brown robe caught the attention of many who studied below, but Beliac’s one of black silenced any questions. The long ascent was uneventful; no clanging bells or slamming barricades added to the sound of their tread.

  “I would think the library to be more highly guarded than the hall of the initiates,” Alodar said as they climbed. “Yet it would seem a knife in your ribs in exchange for your ring would imperil all the secrets here.”

  “The magic in my ring encompasses more than just the parting of the slab, neophyte,” Beliac replied with a slight wheeze. “That ring was formed as part of the same ritual that exchanged my gray robe for black. Off my hand it is powerless, worth only the few brandels of silver of which it is made. It works for me and me alone, as do the thirteen carried by the other magicians of the Guild.”

  “Then that same knife might prompt you to use the ring to gain my entrance, just as you have done of your own free will. The result would be the same.”

  “As I said, neophyte, a ring most magical,” Beliac continued. “It is attuned to me and to me alone, but in a state of mind of reasonable tranquility. If I am stressed, it will not work and fear for my life would render it useless. You saw how I had to calm my slight anger to effect our passage. No, there is no way into the library save by the will of a master magician. But enough of my craft. At the moment, I am more concerned with yours.

  “When we enter I shall greet first the one you are to control. Let him be until we are to vote on the elevation of Duncan to the black robe, and then have him vote yes. Can you indeed effect this?”

  “If within the next hour, before my powers for voice casting subside, yes,” Alodar answered. “And I will need in addition something from his body. A hair perhaps will be the easiest to secure.”

  “Hmmm, yes,” Beliac said, touching his fingers to his lips. “That I can arrange. Be ready for it when the opportunity arises. But, hold, we are at the portal to the apex.”

  Beliac stopped and placed his ring against the ceiling and an opening formed as it had on the ground level. Following the magician’s lead, Alodar rose the last few steps and entered the top of the pyramid.

  Unlike the giant room below, the apex was windowed, but the openings did little to alleviate the cramped feeling of the four walls sloping to a point overhead. A large, U-shaped table filled the room. Wedged between it and the wall behind sat the other th
irteen magicians of the Guild.

  “What illogic is this?” Lectonil’s voice boomed against the walls. “Beliac does try all patience to bring a neophyte into the council chamber.” He looked at Alodar and his eyes widened in recognition. “And one such as this will fill your ears with lies when we discuss what transpired in the hall of initiates. Take him out before his words taint our reason.”

  Beliac waved his speaker to silence and moved to the wall not blocked by the table. He turned to the left and squeezed behind the seated magicians, motioning Alodar to follow.

  “Well, what explanation do you have for this?” Lectonil persisted. “I have monitored the work of this man before. He has no need to be concerned with things magical.” He looked Alodar in the eye. “And I seriously doubt that his motivations are for the good of the secrets of the Guild.”

  Beliac ignored the challenge, and turned instead to the magician next to the empty seat. “Why, Fulmbar,” he said, “you look in fine spirits for this council. Does it perhaps foreshadow that you have reconsidered your change in stand? No, do not answer now. Save your surprise for the vote. I first must deal with master Lectonil, as vocal as ever.”

  Beliac took the empty seat and glared across the table to his adversary on the other side of the room. “I brought the neophyte to induce just such an outcry as you have made, Lectonil. It betokens the illogical panic in your thought, the fear of losing some prerogatives of your station by the slightest liberalization of our rules and conduct. His presence here is in no way connected with what happened in the hall of initiates.”

  Lectonil frowned at Beliac’s words but then rapidly recovered. “We are all well aware of the way you twist the most innocent statements to your own purposes,” he said. “A neophyte should be denied access to the apex, not because of illogical fear but firm deduction of what the consequences might be. Now if you have done with your theatrics, send the man back to his duties and let us consider the business at hand.”